They'd finally tracked the locket down, through Curren's reservations 'Ghost's contacts appeared to have come through.
However he had even greater reservations about becoming embroiled in some exchange on a boat in Puget Sound.
Still he'd been volunteered for the recon part of the task, Astral Recon at that.
Firstly he'd taken Drake out at etheric mach one, to survey the area, encircling waters they'd spotted three fast moving boats, heading for a rendevous with a yacht.
A yacht that had half a dozen watchers and a few hidden larger spirits, however being prudent 'Drake' had pulled them back before they were discovered.
Although at the speeds they were travelling most things would have struggled to have seen them.

Black had set off via his bike, while Ghost and Drake had made their way physically via magical flight, Curren had gladly accepted his role as astral guardian.
He'd returned to the area, however the terrain had dramatically changed, a storm had erupted from nowhere, it was exhilerating though flying at his enhanced speeds, through the depths of natural chaos.
The waters below were alive with astral and magical forms, swimming in some intricate dance or conflict, flashes of arcane light occasionally illuminated the depths below.

Usually winds or storms wouldn't have unduely affected his astral form, however the fact that the winds and the static charge were affecting him told him that this storm wasn't at all natural.
His astral armour reshaped around his face, into that of a proper helm, Curren thanked his Accelerity power, even the power of astral flight would struggle to contend with the strength of the astral winds. Curren on the other hand rode the storm, spying his companions astral forms he watched them descend to the yacht and mayhem ensue.

The old fashioned sign of Ourobouros Supplies & Trinkets swung with a suddenly fierce sea breeze.
Ursula looked up from her talismongering, sorting through some freshly gathered Saskatoon, for plant radicals, the flow of the store had changed.
Stepping into front of house, nothing had changed; the grills were down over the store front.
Looking around Ursula examined the contents of the shop, the various jars of dried animal parts, herbs, semi-precious stones and minerals, the shift occurred again, turning her gaze fell upon the set of three Japanese hourglasses, first made in the city of Nima in the 6th Century.
The coloured sands within each, shifted and flowed as if some wind or breeze had gained entry to the antique time pieces, steadying herself she allowed her vision to flow into the astral realms.

Faint trails flowed from the hourglasses throughout the room, despite the inside of the rooms being suitably warded, following the trails back to the hourglasses she saw a shape form from the spectral sand. The shape of a shark, Ursulaâ€™s eyes widened, the karmic landscape of the Sound had been altered, for something to have had such an effect it had to be powerful, very powerful indeed.

A few well placed vidcalls and â€˜Heavy Leadz Recoveriesâ€™ had appeared within the equation, â€˜Lenny Leadz Jnr had appeared at the waterfront parking lot at 4.15am.
Vehicle wise the haul was five Suzuki Streetbikes, plus two hogs, with a second hand street value of Y32K, his fee for expedient collection, armed haulage and then transporting them to Oakland was 20% all in.
Lenny knew the risks, the bikes were â€˜Halloweenerâ€™ property, however his dad and him had recovered vehicles from all of the major gangs in Seattle, thatâ€™s why part of their fee included bringing the â€˜Heavy Metal Krewâ€™, a troll gang turned protection outfit.
Three of the crew sat atop the semi, as â€˜Lennyâ€™s drone winch hauled each of the bikes up and into the trailer, â€˜Lennyâ€™ yawned, time was of the essence, currently the â€˜Weenersâ€™ were trying to get some of their leadership out of â€˜Starâ€™ custody, once that was pulled off theyâ€™d come looking for what was theirs and then take out their frustrations on the nearest target, best not to be around when that occurred. 'Lenny' was far from a good samaritan, however he had no particular liking of gangs, so he'd put the word out in the area for streetfolk to be scarce.

Curren ignored Blackâ€™s grumbling about Fixers costs and Finders Fees, although allowed himself a sly smirk when the elf protested â€˜That it was hard to do a dishonest days work with such despicable people aroundâ€™, Drake had not been so self contained and roared with laughter.
He had been studying the lightning effect contained within his blades, neither were stable, a containment of power, in order to fully lock such power he would need to perform a full scale enchantment, however it was an absolutely perfect place to start.
The power was mesmerizing, white furious motes swirled contently within the blades pattern and then suddenly would entered a frenzied state, he was watching lightning at work.
His other great discovery had been the formation of the Mana within the storm clouds, the dolphins had conjured the effect of that there was no doubt, â€˜Storm Dolphinsâ€™ heâ€™d reminded himself.
Ordinarily Mediterranean creatures a long way from home, a curiosity in itself.
â€˜Back on courseâ€™ he chided himself, through their manipulation the clouds had gained a widespread background count, what if such a thing could be manipulated, even uttilsed offensively a â€˜Mana Vortexâ€™. He would continue his studies, but not here, his laboratory was sufficient for Magical practice, but exploration of astral/mana power that would require something significantly more comprehensive!

Captain Lucas Marley watched the HRT and SWAT teams go in, across Tacoma premises were raided, tackling both Mafia and Yakuza operations, ones that the LS OCT (Organised Crime Taskforce) had confirmed ownership or connection.
In quieter days, these businesses would have been left alone, kept under surveillance to establish connection to larger prizes, but war had commenced across the sprawl so now any prize had value.

La Costa Nostra did not go quietly, firefights in all three locations and along the wharf, the Yakuza had been characteristically reserved, trouble in one location.

The irony 'Marley' knew was that the families would feel betrayed, how could the police become embroiled in their affairs, how dare the peace keepers keep the peace.
Marley reviewed the trid screens, drones across the city feeding information into the command centres, they'd even buzzed the properties of the family heads, although their hardware had been zapped by their Electronic Warfare.

arcanus wrote:He had been studying the lightning effect contained within his blades, neither were stable, a containment of power, in order to fully lock such power he would need to perform a full scale enchantment, however it was an absolutely perfect place to start.

Is that something Drake could help stabilise with his Enchanting skills?
Maybe a combination of his Quickening & Talismongering could tun the swords into lightning capacitors, storing up the power until needed.
And if by chance Drake learnt more about electricity while doing this, that's not a bad thing. Particularly when learning Curren's Lightning spell...

(As I'm away for probably 2 weeks, that's what Drake will be doing. let me know what rolls you need as next week i will be on t'forum)

The act had been rash, the 'Troll Killers' in an attempt to redeem themselves staged an assault on the 'Angel Foundation', attacking from both the rear and front.
The Foundation under the protection of Knight Errant Security Services, put up unrelenting and unyielding resistance.

Sargeant Warren Caldwell responded to the door sentries alarm, the helmet cam of the door sentries was on constant feed, this in turn fed into the units BattleTac, which in turn ran a constant threat analysis.
The guarded body language of the newly arrived pedestrians triggered the â€˜Psyche Programâ€™ , the guards went to threat response before the gangers had even acted, they were already loaded for bear when the gangers drew their weapons.
As the situation unfolded the guards had triggered collaspable barriers, ballistic screens laid on the front steps and at the rear exits, articulating into impromptu bunkers.
The clients of the foundation were ushered into the centre of the building away from windows.

***

Seattle Knight Errant Division Head â€˜Joseph Bradwellâ€™ watched the secure feed with a combined sense of Pride, Excitement and unease, the majority of the personel guarding the Foundation were Knight Errant Security, Grade 1s, highly trained in Security and Law Enforcment with mid level military tactical training.
Their command Sargeant Caldwell was Grade 2, special ops, far more military trained.
Thirty gangers were disabled or dispatched within two minutes, the combination of coordinated training, coolness under fire and BattleTac was almost symphonic, the gangers stood little chance and had no opportunity to fire the building or deploy the explosives theyâ€™d brought along.

This would make fantastic PR, his next call was to the head of Seattle Marketing.

The Seattle Metroplex receives an average annual rainfall of 40 inches, this night was no exception.
A thick, grey, persistant rain swept across Downtown and Tacoma, leaving plexiglass windows and sidewalks slick with water.
The high caliber round destroyed â€˜Tony Siolaâ€™s nose and jaw before exiting through the nape of his neck, it spewed a deluge of blood down his tuxedo and stark white shirt, his friends were completely unaware, continuing down the sidewalk towards â€˜Majoridoâ€™s Restaurant in Tacomaâ€™s Theatre district.
The world stood still as â€˜Tonyâ€™s corpse stood motionless, devoid of life and motionless.

Lone Star was alerted by CCTV and first response Drones arrived within minutes, however the assassin was long gone

***
Eye of The Needle Pirate Trid Report: War erupted in the north of old Seattle today.
In Southern Lake City, the Matthews Beach neighbourhood or the Northern Core as it was known these days.
The Halloweeners Gang struck at three specific targets and anyone else in their way, in a display of firepower and lethal pyrotechnics, the targets were the 65th Street Precinct formerly SPD now Lone Star, the second being a Renraku owned Cinema called â€˜Visionâ€™ and the third a gang hangout for â€˜The Cuttersâ€™ gang.
After a recent loss of face the Halloweeners were out for blood and mindless violence, they didnâ€™t disappoint, the death toll reached 43, before substantial numbers of Lone Star HRT Teams and Seattle Metroplex Guard Units forcibly pacified the area.

***
In an undisclosed location witin the Seattle Metroplex, one of the Cities three premier Fixers, watched the flow of data streaming into their mainframe.
The Mob War was in full swing, all it had taken was the right person killed and the tinder box had ignited, the tentative skirmishes turned into war.
Tony Siola was a member of the Ciarniello Family, his hit was in response to the hit the night previously of Aldo â€˜Al The Squidâ€™ Burke in the â€˜Neros Resturantâ€˜, Al being a member of the Bigio family, the hitter from the Ciarnielloâ€™s and so the Mob War escalated.
FBI agents intervened and prevented three further hits on Ciarniello or Bigio family members or employees, both theirs and Lone Stars Organised Crime taskforces concluded that the assassinations were internecine.
What was certain was that for many this would be bad for business, for others it would be very good, the challenge was choosing the opportunity and keeping your enemies close.

Frank Drake stirred and raised his head from the work bench, it was just before dawn and his Hearth Spirit still remained, its remaining time until daybreak short.
The entity following Drakes religious leanings and in keeping with the building resembled a metal angel, waiting patiently for its summoner to realize where he was.
The previous night, theyâ€™d all reached the point of exhaustion, however theyâ€™d kept looking, examining the locket, looking for its meaning, but found nothing, or nothing that explained the eagerness almost hunger with which the syndicates had pursued it.

***
The Nipponese man stood, his anger internal, they had been outmatched, outclassed, honour was in question, fortunately his team and himself were held in higher grace and were more useful than the rank and file. However that wasnâ€™t the point, the attackers had deployed the most bizarre tactics against them, some form of emp bomb that had neutralized the majority of the yacht. After liberating his team members from Lone Star Custody, they had seized a member of the â€˜Halloweenersâ€™ gang, finally the interrogation had yielded fruit.

Miko came into the warehouse office, she bowed, stoically he awaited her report
â€œThe Halloweeners did not set us up, she was completely unknowledgable of the attackers or their methods, however! She added
***
Drake turned to the spirit, a little surprised to see that the spirit remained, he thought for a moment
â€œDid you find anything else?â€ he enquired
The spirit smiled â€œThere was something else within the locketâ€ he said simply

***
â€œWhatâ€ replied the more senior Japanese man
â€œThere was something within the locket, they removed it before coming aboardâ€ Miko added

***
Drake sat upright, â€œSomething in the locketâ€
â€œThatâ€™s what I saidâ€ replied the spirit.
â€œWhere is it nowâ€ spluttered Drake, however the first rays of dawn broke through the polarized windows and the spirit had gone.

***
â€œWhere is it nowâ€ demanded the senior
â€œShe did not know, presumably lost with the boatâ€
The senior was already on the phone, he gestured for Miko to organize the cleaning up of what was left of the ganger.

The elf cleared away his things and plugged himself into the terminal on his desk. His desk?
Odd how he suddenly considered it his. It was Currenâ€™s desk, Currenâ€™s terminal, Currenâ€™s building. It all belonged to Curren, a small obscure success story.

Black was not going to let some greasy wops and a bunch of slant-eyes ruin the good thing his friend had painstakingly built here.

Knight Errant had done a good job repelling the Troll Killers, who had tried to storm the building.
Now, was that a desperate attempt by the gang to redeem themselves for past failures, or an act of vengeance initiated by the gangâ€™s sponsor?
If it was the latter then that could mean that someone had somehow managed to identify them from last nightâ€™s attack.
It didnâ€™t matter, with over thirty of the Killers cooling their heels in the local lock-up, the gang was now at a diminished capacity.
Now would be a good time to pay their boss a visit.

Putting that aside, he concentrated on his current mission.
The Redmond Barrens was a dangerous place, roving go-gangs, criminal elements, even the local residents were harsh. Even the law avoided the Barrens if it could.
The greater number of the populace were orcs, trolls and humans. Those members of society that were on or below the poverty line.
It was the ideal place to set up a base of operations. Property was cheap in the Barrens and for good reason.
Black flicked through the numerous to let and to buy properties listed within the ghettoâ€™s. Then he found one that took his interest.
A fire station located just inside the Barrens.

The realtor had somehow managed to get a virtual building up on the matrix, so Black was able to peruse it.
Even in the â€˜tweakedâ€™ representation it was a little rough, which told him that in the cold light of day the building would be in a bit of a mess.
There was evidence of blast damage to the building too, even though the repairs were of excellent quality, they werenâ€™t done to blend in.
It had all the standard services â€“ power, comms, water.
It also had high walls topped with razor wire.
What concerned the elf was the price tag. It seemed too low: Y48,500.
Checking the history of the sale he noticed that the price had come down from over Y95K, but after a half dozen interested parties had resulted in no sale the price had steadily fallen.

Leaving the brokers site he did a quick search on the address and found a remote link to a message board that was advertising the property privately.
The vendor was one Mr Hunting Eagle, now a resident of Salishe-Shidhe.

Black dialled the number on the site and spoke directly with the vendor.
The conversation was brief and direct and the man, an operative of the shadows himself in former years was more than willing to accept the payment in cash.
Within twenty minutes the transfer of funds was complete and Mr Hunting Eagleâ€™s lawyer had drafted and signed all the required documentation to make one Arthur Pendragon the new owner of the old fire station.

The red Indian was pleased to be rid of the building.
All black had to do was turn it into a base of operations; Op-Centre, Seattle.

Unplugging himself from the terminal he wandered up to Currenâ€™s/Angelâ€™s lab.
On the stairs he met a distraught looking Drake.
â€œBastards!â€ the gnome swore. â€œBastards!â€
â€œWhatâ€™s the problem?â€ Black asked.
â€œTheyâ€™ve still got what was inside the locket!â€ it came out in a rush.
â€œThere was something in the locket?â€ Black asked, his hands on Drakes shoulders to steady him and keep his concentration.
Drake nodded.
â€œWho and where?â€
The little man shrugged. â€œ I donâ€™t know.â€
â€œFuck it!â€ With a heavy sigh Black suggested they find Angel and break the news. The man was already in a half suicidal mood as it was this morning!

The Nipponese Senior waited, his face tight.
He breathed in the serenity of the place, amazing that in the middle of downtown, upon the top of a skyraker sat a 4 acre garden, with a Shinto Shrine in its center.
The man looked at the Myojin-style Torii, the entrance to the large shrine and waited, allowing his Iaido and Taido training to calm him, patience was neccessary.

Two hours passed, rare butterflies swam past him in a cloud of surreal colour, the garden was alive with Japanese fauna.
Miko appeared, her body clearly tired and drained, composing herself she straighted her posture and made her way through the gardens path, across the arched Koi bridge to his seating place.
A deep bow "ç§é”ã¯ãƒ­ãƒƒã‚¯ã‚’å¾—ã‚‹ã“ã¨ãŒã§ããªã‹ã£ãŸ" (We couldn't establish a lock)
His frown returned, Miko waited, her breathing calming"ãªãœã‹" (Why?) he repliedå…±é³´ã—ãŸãƒªãƒ³ã‚¯ã¯ååˆ†ã«å¼·ããªã„ã€ç§é”å¿…è¦ã¨ã™ã‚‹ãƒ­ã‚±ãƒƒãƒˆã‚’! (The sympathetic link isn't strong enough, we need the locket!)
He had known this of course, which didn't mitigate the annoyance of the situation.
He stood, bowed too a rare depth for 'Miko'ã‚ˆãã—ãŸ! ã€ç§é”ã¯è¡Œã‹ãªã‘ã‚Œã°ãªã‚‰ãªã„! (You've done well!, We must go!)
They proceeded from the garden, arriving at the carefully concealed lift doors, the remainder of his team falling in as they began their descent.

The van pulled up to the rear of the Angel Foundation, the driver a little taken aback by the sudden appearance of a squad of Knight Errant.
The squad checked the van and the package to be delivered, before clearing its delivery.

The huge box was carried through the goods entrance and up to the second floor, where it was left for the attention of Mr Black.
A large box full of robotic parts, circuits and machinery.

David Angel, Drake, Ghost and Black were sat in the second floor conference room in the south west corner of the Angel foundation, the blinds drawn shut so that the mid afternoon sun was marked only as a series of bright vertical lines where the individual pieces did not overlap. The lights on the room were off, the subtle glow from the vertical stripes casting enough light for them all to be able to perform their respective activities.

Angel, Drake and Ghost had all â€˜wokenâ€™ from their trance like states as they returned from their astral quest. They found their colleague, Mr Black, still in a trance of his own, sat at one of the three desks with a fine fibre optic cable leading from the induction datajack in his right temple to the terminal itself.

As the three magi spoke of their discoveries and debated what the meaning of the spell remnant they had found was, Claiburn Black turned to face them, coiling the cable and carefully placing it in his inside pocket.

â€œI have the phone number of the man who pulled the trigger,â€ he announced.

â€œHow the hellâ€™d you get that?â€ Ghost muttered barely audibly.

There was a knock at the door and the conversations dropped off immediately.
â€œEh, come in!â€ Angel called impatiently.

The door to the room opened and a Knight Errant guard stepped in.
â€œExcuse me for interrupting your meeting gentlemen,â€ he said with a New England accent, â€œbut there has been a delivery for Mr Black, sir. Weâ€™ve had it placed in the storeroom.â€ He stopped as if there was more to be said, then deciding he continued. â€œWe opened the package, sirs, to check the contents were legitimate. If you donâ€™t mind my saying, sirs, it appears to be drone components.â€
The Knight glanced about the room and then with a nod at Black he departed.

Internally Cal was grinning like a kid at Christmas, but externally his face was impassive. â€œPlease excuse me gentlemen,â€ he said rising from the comfortable swivel chair, â€œif any of you need me for the next couple of hours, then Iâ€™ll be in the workshop.â€

The elf made his way to the opposite side of the floor, where above the garage was a huge store room and complete workshop, a legacy it seemed from one of the many previous occupants of the drab ex-government building.

He unpacked the contents, noting that the shippers had broken it down into a dozen main components.
With gusto he began assembling the modified Cyberspace Designs Dalmatian.

A solemnity surrounded the Soldiers of The Foundation, although they'd won through in the end, the act in itself was horrific.
A trusted friend, guardian of the Foundation had not only been brought low but corrupted, tarnished.
Hanson Alwitcher had been escorted to the Docwagon facility in Downtown Seattle, the former Virginia Mason Medical Center. Secured within the Lonestar Wing, he was under heavy guard.

It had been 'Black' who had identified the curious chip secured within 'Alwitcher's datajack, the Docwagon medics had moved to remove it, however the elf had stopped them. Something had struck him as wrong, out of place, a bad feeling, his feeling appeared to be correct, although they hadn't deduced the nature of the chip, the minute clamps extending from its casing around the jack.

Uncle Al, looked at the datapad, screwing his nose up as he did, he hated computers and all things not paper.
He was truly a child of the 60s, the 1960s that was.
The Mob fatalities were climbing rapidly, a third of them through reprisals between the two main families, touched off by the 'Silvaro Resturant Hit'.

'Shotozuma must be rubbing his hands together!' he thought, as if reading his mind Rowena entered his study, she'd always admired the slightly classical styling of the study, neutral colours with chrome accessories. "Are you sure your people have this in hand?" she enquired quietly, "It might be better if we take Mary's offer, put it in the hands of the family?"
Al looked up, there was a lot of James in Rowena, however she had a quality that even her father didn't, if he could keep her alive long enough, that quality would be the making of the Finnigan Family.

"No it cannot be family, during these times no one can be trusted, least of all Mary, their resume is good!" he replied, "However in this day and age, how good is any resume!"

The pressure was building, notoriety was being gained and that was unwelcome at the best of times.
Black looked out of the third floor window of the Foundation building, at thick dark rain clouds that had floated down from Mt Rainier.
His instincts were to close up, shut down any links and take the group back to Oakland, Ghost watched the silence of the group impassively, as if he'd seen this before.

Curren seemed torn with indecision and divided loyalty, the situation was threatening to consume the Foundation and his efforts, but his enterprise to bring light through the darkness now felt like a shackle.
Only Drake seemed unpreturbed, ready for whatever revelation the new day would bring, still thought Black, after a period of fog, frustration and indecision they'd made a breakthough. They had two properties to infiltrate, two properties which had the potential to solve the Mafia riddle .

It was strange how such a familiar building looked so different in the dark, but then all buildings looked different when empty and the lights down.
â€˜Karen Ashton' stood upon the second floor balcony and looked down within the atrium of the 'Foundation'.
David Angel had closed it down after another attack, four ninja like assassins had descended upon the building and tried to kill the Foundations inner circle, they'd been mercilessly repelled but not before brutally slaying 'Martha' the Foundations larger than life receptionist, probably for being larger than life.

She hoped that the Foundation would reopen, the local community needed it, but Karen understood that 'Angel' couldn't allow any more of its people to die, not with the maelstrom around it.

Karen turned as a figure stepped from the shadows of the stairway, she monitered its movement as the man approached, revealing the form of Sam Burridge as he stepped into the half light.

"What brings you here Mr Burridge?" she asked cautiously
The government man stepped to the balcony railings, weighing his answer
"I was just seeing the place , I hear its had a rough time" with that he looked at the bullet holes, cracks in the wall and the blood stains.
Karen just looked at Burridge calmly
He turned and looked at her "Hows Angel holding up" that question was a surprise, for a moment she looked a little taken aback.
"I mean it" he said "People who look after people invest their hearts and souls in such endevours, it hurts when people get hurt!"
Karen again regarded Burridge with some interest and reservation
Burridge didn't wait for a reply, he seemed to decide something internally and turned to leave "Tell him to look after himself" he said

"Mr Burridge are you alright" she asked
Sam Burridge turned and looked back, he looked tired, soul tired
"Yeah I think so Miss Ashton, I think so" with that he turned and strolled down the stairs.

Seattle Metroplex Airspace
The FBI Ares Dragon powered off its landing pad, its skylane being cleared by SeaTac ATC and Federal Coyote Attack copters.
Tactical Agent Billsborough rode the turbulence, he loved this feeling, adrenaline flooding his system, his auto-injector firing some stimulants on the request of his bio-monitor.
A major conflict had broken out in China Town on the Bellevue border, the Feds and Lonestar were hoping that some Octagon and Shotozuma big hitters would be present.
FBI, Star and Metroplex Guardsmen were rushing to the scene.

***West Valley Neighbourhood - West Auburn
The Lucky Fish Market had exploded in fury, the Shotozuma Gumi had struck at the heartland of the Octagon Triad, warriors of the 88 Tigers clashed with Neo-Kensai.
The senior watched from his vantage point, in Auburn, in the last few days he washed his hands in a deluge of Sicilian and Irish blood, his unit were at that very moment only a few hundred meters from him battling the 'Cutthroat' gang, originally a Yakuza allied group who had switched alliances at the beginning of the war.

Miko was slammed backwards by a particularly viscious blow from a ganger, she staggered, the Senior narrowed his eyes distracted from the battle in Downtown, he waited to see if Miko recovered, but she was reacting to slow.
His hand snapped up his Arasaka pistol barked putting a burst through the gangers temple, Miko composed herself, sorcerous armour springing up.
Throughout the nearby alleyways his team were carving the gang up.

***The International District - South West Downtown
The 88 Tigers were a formidable force, all expert Martial Artists and the majority significant adepts, however the Yakuza warrior they faced was something else, akin to the Samurai of old.
The figure was lithe, dressed in a white warriors kimono, he or she wore a Noh Mask, held a Chochin Lantern in their right hand and an antique katana in their left, gunfire flowed past the figure, spells seemed to have little effect.
The samurai cut a swathe through the triad warriors, until their champion entered the fray.
The Chinese ork propelled himself through the air, no formality, no ceremony, his fists and kicks blurred, the samurai parrying and striking in return, their combat became a blur.
Explosions ripped through market, Chinese businesses decimated within seconds, the Octagon replied with heavy firepower and Wu sorcery, Yakuza footsoldiers falling in droves.
Bloodied the two champions stepped back, panting, each severely wounded.
Again without ceremony, they both turned and walked back to their respective people and vanished.
The forces of Law enforcement were arriving and engaging the footsoldiers, the hand had been dealt, its meaning clear to both sides.

-James Shirley wrote:The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hands on kings.

Kismet, Fate, chance, even the wheel of fortune, the denizens of the shadows called it Karma, the revolution of events.
The day began with news that 2XS had been baddly torn up in a matrix fight, the kind of badly torn up where a person ends up in intensive care with potential brain damage.

Just when it seemed as if fate would strip away every ally they had, broken every last scrap of resolve they had, one of 2XS's contacts in Seattle came through.
He'd found the location of the Carniello Hitter, holed up in Puyallup, however the hounds were loose, he informed 'Black' that a number of hunters were tearing up various Nodes to track him down.
Time was ticking, but this time maybe on their side for once!

The Foundation had gone off the radar, closing the charity down and migrating to Black's Redmond Barrens hide-out.
The question was - did they want to break cover?

Responding to 2XS's contact Black invited him/her to meet 'in-person' at a small diner near the Renraku Archology.
Black told him that he would offer the unknown person refuge in the barrens, or a contact in Oakland that would do the same.
"...go to the gang and ask for Silk," Black had said in their very brief comcall. "Tell him... tell him Carnun sent you."

As far as Black was concerned - you had to look after your own.

But that meeting would have to wait until the evidence had been gathered from the resaurant.

Uncle Al sat with a degree of satisfaction and relief, Maurice Bigio had suspended 'Lasciare di anima', the Seattle Families having redirected their collective anger back to the Yakuza and Triads, however the internecine warfare had lasted three days to long and territory in both Tacoma and Auburn had been lost.

The suspension had to be permanent, 'Maurice's attention had been directed to the assassin having been based in 'The International District', or 'Little Nippon' as it was refered to on the street.
However his resturant had been hit, it didn't matter that his own people had done most of the tearing up, he'd want blood and if it wasn't yellow he'd settle for runner blood instead!

In the fractious gloom of twilight Redmond the three assembled for their ritual, the Moon was full, the conditions right.
The only thing against them was exhaustion, they'd just come from breaking into a Bigio Resturant to stop the families fighting.

Malthalamus and Drake, each constructed their part of the ritual, a stylish hermatic circle combined with something similar to a periodic table, one detailing only metals though.
The two magicians concentrated drawing upon the spirit force of their order, the Order Avatar of 'The Soldiers of Light.
The armoured Knight began to materialise, but it was faint.
Their ritual was a combination of metamagic forces, tales of their deeds, deeds of protecting people and demonstration of their martial prowess.

The night was long, the ritual intense and not without delays or mishaps, Black linked himself to Drakes VCR, the two syncronising, strengthening their link.
Finally the three felt the threads of power, establish, thicken and interlink, forming the Orders link.
The Soldiers now counted three amongst their number, bound by magic and deed.

Both Curren and Drake smiled, the connection after several years had strengthened, the Avatar being more solid, but as always this was just the start, the Avatar was entering a time of development which would require more karmic power.

Through perpetually darkened halls they ran, invaders from the sunlit world lay siege to their home.
The Crypt had been attacked many times, however the wolves at their door hated the residents that the old Puyallup Factory protected, hated them for what they were and the person they protected.

The metahuman residents not affected by the hateful sun, manned the walls laying down heavy firepower at the oriental attackers, who responded in considerable kind. Deep within the labyrinthine halls of the inner crypt, their quarry shivered within his room, a killer by trade, he was now the hunted by the most viscious of his kind.
In the network rooms of the crypt, its Sysop physically cut the hardlines to the matrix, nothing short of this would stop the frenzied attack from a flock of black birds.

The streets had settled to an uncomfortable calm, an uneasy one, the mob war had taken a heavy toll on everyone, the Star, Feds, the Syndicates themselves.
Each had lost and gained ground, only the Yakuza had come out ahead and that could only be temporary, now that 'Maurice Bigio' had been confirmed as Capo of Seattle he'd be looking to reclaim the mobs lost territory.

Marley scratched his head and pushed the datapad across his desk, he'd been pouring over the E-reports for weeks, like the other Tactical Analysts looking for the next explosion of syndicate violence or indeed a chink in the armour, a high profile arrest would do the Star a power of good.

Still the Metroplex Prison had, had its cells well and truly filled, Marley found the whole atmosphere unsettling, as the city was waiting for another storm.

Jericho looked around the room at the mish-mash of people here with him. Most were the usual runner types, having a background in the military of other similar organisation. A fairly professional lot who knew what to do to get the job done. A few of them were obviously gangers who for some reason were going their own way from their brethren. These were the ones with bravado and the ones with a lot to say without actually saying anything of importance.
And then there were the ones that didn't look like they fit here at all. Those, Jericho knew from experience, were the ones to watch. They looked out of place but they wouldn't have been brought in here without reason, and that was normally what they could do rather than who they were.
One of them was studying him as intently as he was the rest of the group.

The private investigator would have returned the scrutiny except the he noticed the Johnson was talking again. He was explaining once more the the situation where a team was dispatched to the roof of the Archology only to be wiped out by the automated defences.
There was a question right there â€“ how the hell does anyone know they were automated and not a deliberate attack by persons unknown within the building? Jericho didn't need to ask the question aloud, he already knew the answer; Johnson's employer did not want to admit to this bunch of underworld mercenaries that someone else could have possible taken control of their iconic building. That led to another unvoiced question... What happens when this bunch of misfits goes in and finds out what is really going on in there, and what if one or more of them make it out to let Johnson's team know, then how to stop the world knowing an hour later? Ok, so now Jericho guessed this was a one way ticket.
He waited until the Johnson had finished talking and piped up once more.
â€œAll right, Mr Johnson, I appreciated that I've arrived a little late here, so forgive me if I'm going over old ground. By their silence I'm guessing these guys have already asked all the questions the need answers to, so I'll just run off a few more of my own. There's a few of them so I'll just rattle them off and your guys out back go over the recording and come up with suitable answers which you'll give to me and then I'll let you know if I think your bullshitting us and then you'll stop wasting all of our time and give me the truth, or at least as much as you can.â€
Jericho paused letting the sting of his tone settle on the man at the front of the briefing room. He could see by the way the man's eyes narrowed that he wasn't appreciating the human's insolence, but Jericho didn't really care about his sensibilities. After all it was this man that had dragged him half way across Seattle in the middle of the night and was more or less instructing him to go on a Shadowrun.
Still he had to congratulate the man for not openly bridling against the comment.
â€œGo on,â€ the man directed.
â€œWhat information has come from your employer's people inside the Arcology either before of after this power down? What has happened to all the people who were injured in the opening day incident? What was the objective of the team who died on the roof? In fact any survivors from that little disaster? If you want this lot to go in just what do you expect from them, I mean exactly? What equipment are you going to provide to assist them. When or if the truth is discovered what the hell do you want done with it? Is this going to be one big team or do you want them to go with their normal groups, teams, whatever? How much do you want to control the movements and actions of those you send inside? To save anyone having to change their plans halfway through the op, just what exactly is it you want us to retrieve from the bowels of Renraku's new wonder? How long do you expect this to take? When you say you lost communications with the Arcology are you saying matrix comms with the the central core, or complete telecommunications black out? There's apparently ninety-thousand people in there, odds are one of them has a mobile phone, don't you think?â€
Jericho paused as he went over the list of questions. â€œTell me about the defences, what physical defences is someone attempting to illicitly gain access to the building likely to face? Same goes for magical defences? Which brings me on to... has anyone astrally scanned the place? If so, what have they discovered, if not, why not?â€
The Johnson smiled as the bald man in the slightly old fashioned suit seemed to come to an end.
â€œVery good, Mr Jericho. Is that all?â€
â€œNo.â€
â€œVery well, proceed.â€

â€œThis room is full of people who operate, for the most part, outside of the law. Corporations don't resort to brining in runners like these folks here, unless the shit has hit the fan and they are looking for deniability on their actions or their activities themselves are illegal. So, you are either not working for Renraku, in which case this is a fuckin' witless plan for twenty odd shadowrunners to take over the Arcology, or something has happened that you don't want the world to know about. Lets assume that it's the latter, to save anyone here walking out right now, then you or Renraku must have looked at launching an assault or two with corporate personnel. I think everyone here should look at the intel gathered there and the options you have already turned down. It may be that a plan that wouldn't work for your guys, might be something these esteemed fellows are quite happy to try. It could save time and resources if your hirelings don't bother attempting something that'll just get them killed.â€

â€œAnd while we're on the subject of shadowrunners, I'm sure most of these guys don't mind the label, but what the hell am I doing here?â€

Jericho's tone told the Johnson that he was finally finished. â€œLet me speak to some people,â€ he said rising from the edge of the desk on which he was leaning. â€œI'll be back in a moment. Ladies, gentlemen, help yourself to coffee.â€

"Ladies and gentlemen." That brought a smile to Pie's face. Of the group gathered here he was the only one who could pass for a female, and often had to get out of a tricky situation.

This was a strange situation indeed. By his reckoning this room consisted of a large number of glory-hunters, and one or two true runners. It was these True Runners that deserved the most attention... in particular the bald man in the bad suit. He had been the only one to say what was on everyone elses mind, and the only mind in the room to say absolutely nothing. This was obviously a well trained man, and worth a closer look.

As the bald man walked up to the coffee table Pie studied his walk. Studied his eyes, his hands, the ever-so slight bend in his back, the tensing of facial muscles when he realised he was being watched. Very well trained.

Pie walked over to the coffee table, avoiding any eye contact with the glory-hunters who were all to eager to explain how they would "bust this wide open", or "take down every fucker in there." Sometimes this gift could also be a curse.

He moved next to the bald man and poured a coffee. Not too close to appear strange, but close enough to smell the rich aroma of columbian finest coffee beans on his breath. Realto brand. Popular in expensive coffee house.
Pie filled his plastic cup with coffee then sniffed it, wrinking his nose.
"For all this effort you'd think they would bring out the real coffee..." he said turning to the bald man.
"Jericho isn't it?" asked Pie, remembering to drop the 'Mr'. He didn't appear to like the 'Mr'.

Jericho glanced sideways at the figure to his right as he sipped the steaming hot liquid.
His face screwed up in distaste and the human made a point of glaring at the contents of the cup in the hope that his expression wasn't taken as a personal insult to this person.
The voice was melodic and seemed to have both male and female tones to it, almost as if it couldn't make up its mind as to what gender it belonged to.
Jericho turned towards the person and quickly gave him, her a once over. The figure's features were neither male nor female and it made him a little uneasy that he couldn't label him or her into one category or the other. Even a surreptitious glance at the persons chest didn't give any clues, the lack of a large pair of breasts merely confirmed that there were no obvious female traits that would allow the labelling to take place.

This character was one of the lone figures that had been sat at the table when he had arrived, one of the ones who Jericho had already decided was here for more than their ability to pull a trigger.
â€œYes, on both counts,â€ he said with a friendly smile. â€œAlthough it doesn't surprise me that they don't want to waste their finest stock on a room full of 'persona non-gratis'.â€
â€œAnd you are?â€ the human asked offering his free hand. He hoped the name might give him a clue.

"Pie." replied Pie with a firm handshake. Not weak and feminine, but a handshake designed to reveal a bit more about the mysterious Pie. It's firm grasp and minimal vertical movement showed strength and control that didn't quite fit the slender frame.

Pie stood at 6 feet tall. Hair was shoulder length and very dark, which coupled with the olive skin gave for a very mediterranean appearance. Although some of his features appear elf-like, the ears were rounded like a humans. High, pronounced cheekbones also appeared like those of elves, or women, but nothing was definative. There was no makeup around the sparkling, dark eyes, and no stubble visible on the chin or lip.
Pie was wearing a dark hooded zip up top, over a t-shirt, with just the hint of some kind of form fitted armour underneath.
Even the way Pie stood could neither be classed as male or female. Not flirty or ignorant, he just... stood.

"Just Pie." continued Pie, not wanting to answer Jericho's real question of "Mr or Mrs".
"If you don't mind me asking, you seem to be one of the more 'professional' guests, and not one of these glory-hounds. What was your first thought when our Mr Johnson explained what he wanted us to do?"

"My first thoughts?" Jericho gave a wry smile.
Pie? Shit, that wasn't exactly telling was it? Well, he'd just have to treat Pie as one of the guys, regardless of gender.
"They've brought everyone in quite quickly, and not been too selective on who the chose. My guess is we're about to get royally screwed!"

"That's about right!" grunted a dwarf who was on his way back to the table after a visit to the gents.
Jericho noticed the small crawler drone perched on his shoulder and the vehicle control rig clipped to his belt.
The dwarf carried on his way and slid into a seat next to an orc with tattoos on nearly every inch of his exposed skin. The private detective also noticed arcane symbols mixed amongst the skin art.
Rigger, mage, thought the fifty one year old human. Got your useful numbers. He wondered what Pie was all about?

"Something has gone badly wrong in the Arcology. If its a hostile take over from outsiders, or even terrorists then they have got to be something special. That building can hold ninety thousand. Can you imagine the number of corporate security guards there would be in a place like that? Hundreds, if not going into the thousands. Someone somewhere would have noticed an opposing force big enough to engage that many troops. So then when have the possibility of an inside job, either some criminal mastermind has infiltrated Renraku and led a revolt, but I doubt it. It really leaves only a couple of real alternatives. Computers or magic. That place was rumoured to be almost fully integrated into the matrix. Hell, even the toilet seats were connected, or so I heard. If someone or something has taken that over, they could easily cause a complete shut down of the building and all comms. Thing is with that, there's going to be a hell of a lot of deckers in there so it wouldn't be easy." Jericho shrugged. Then a thought came to him and he voiced it. "Might be that the system itself has shut the building down, and is defending itself. I've seen that before."

Frowning once again at his coffee he said, "Might have been nice to have a biscuit with this."

Pie noticed Jericho's gaze fall on the dwarf, then the orc. He also noticed the drone and the arcane symbols, probably meaning Jericho was assessing who could do what.
"You're probably wondering what my particular talents are." said Pie, watching the tell tale facial muscles that he has studied for years.
"I'm no rigger or mage", and there they were. Tiny twinges around the eyes that let Pie know he was right, Jericho had just been wondering what his talents are, but there was also a sudden suspicious air about the bald man.
"Don't worry, I'm not psychic either" replied Pie to the question Jericho hadn't asked. "I'm a people person. I can generally tell what someone's thinking just by their body language and such, but I'm also very good at getting into places I'm not allowed in. Hence, I think, my late night booty call tonight."
He turns to face Jericho "I would guess that your training started very young, judging by what I've seen tonight. Probably an ex company man? Although perhaps gone legit now, maybe working with John Q. Law instead of against him?"

"Close, but I've stayed clear of corporations. Cut my teeth on the battlefield."
Strange, Jericho thought, that he had just revealed a fact about his own true background. He hoped Pie wouldn't ask which conflict. Telling him a lie, given his forte, probably wouldn't work, and telling him the truth, that he fought in the Euro-Wars would only reveal more than he currently wished. After all, his new youthful body didn't fit the agegroup for a veteran of those conflicts.

"But now I am a private investigator," Jericho added looking to steer the conversation away from his background.

<Snake Eye circuits activated> The control centre was dim, illuminated only by emergency lighting and the glow of the consoles.
Illuminating the hard faces of corp operatives <Cannon fodder have reached the terminal>
<Affirmative>
<Entry team A have reached the roof, no signs of automated resistance>
<Entry team B have affected lakeside transgress navigating duct entrance>
<Entry team C, landing difficult, loss of CCSS signal, potential abort>
<Re-acquire>
<Confirmed>
<Cannon fodder have disembarked, enroute to ticket mall, no hostile response so far>
<Entry team C, landing achieved, effecting entrance into residential floors>
An eerie quiet settled over the room, this lasted for the eternity of ten minutes.
<Cannon fodder have been engaged> silence once again descended
<Jesus, they've been taken apart>
<How?>
The images were frantic, as the gangers were seemingly attacked from all sides, the watchers received audio of automatic fire.
Some of the gangers seemed to die within seconds from cardiac arrest, others from a hail of bullets.
Silence once again descended across the control centre, the greater concern was that the biometric monitors were indicating some of them were still alive, alive but subdued.

Pie could not avoid letting out a cry of pain, Jericho managed to suppress doing the same, at the price of his veins literally threatening to tear themselves from his forehead.
The pair thrashed around, until military training and Jericho's unhuman stubborness allowed him to shove his hand into his webbing and pull his medkit out.
Pulling out an auto-injector he fired a shot of 'Amlodipine' into his system, without waiting to see if it was successful on him he jabbed Pie in the kneck.

The cardiac suppressant fortunately did its job, their heart beats fell, blood pressure lowering.
Both soldier and thief looked at each other "I don't like those stairs" commented Pie, with absolute seriousness "I don't like them at all!"

Jericho slumped down onto the floor of some unknown persons abandoned apartment. His entire body ached and his skull felt as though it were splitting in two.
Breathing heavily he glanced across to his new companion who looked just as bed as he felt.
Letting the syringe drop he could only nod his consent to Pie's declaration.
â€œSorry.â€ It was all he could muster at the moment and even that had hurt.
Sorry for what? That was the reply that he was expecting.
And what indeed? He was sorry for getting Pie into this. If he'd brought him into his meeting then the guy would have been free to gain access however he saw fit. Not tied in with a silly old man.
He was sorry that he had got caught up in the moment and agreed to come flying in here on this damned foolish mission. He was sorry that he hadn't caught this for the arse-fuck that it really was.
They wanted to send in a load of expendable nobodies in the hope that they may be able to glean something from their assaults, no, from their massacre.
The bastards knew what they were sending them in to, and he fell for it. You may have a new younger body but but your bloody mind still belongs to an old man.
â€œPie we're fucked. We don't have the right equipment or the right back-up. We need to get the hell out of here!â€

"I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit" replied Pie dryly. "Only way to be sure..."
Pie winced visibly with pain as he moved position, mindful of the noise and possible attraction of more Renraku security.
"We both knew there would [wince] be challenges and risks... looks like we both got the scale wrong. If it's any help, I have a feeling we fared a lot better than the other teams... I just..." Pie seemed to lose himself in his thoughts for a moment, "I just don't know what the fuck is going on. We need astral eyes, that's for sure. I do know that no chemical agent could have affected us like that, so quickly. It had to be magical in nature... either a spirit, or some kind of sustained spell, or something, and if the stairs are guarded/haunted by magic then it's going to get worse the deeper we go. Maybe those guards weren't stopping people going into the stairs... maybe they were stopping something coming out..."